


Pining for a Second Chance at Romance

by Cartadwarfwithaheartofgold (manka)



Series: Manka Writes Friend Fiction [9]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Dragon Age II - Act 1, F/M, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Pre-Relationship, Protective Varric Tethras, Rogue Hawke (Dragon Age), Sweet, Unrequited Crush, Varric Tethras' Chest Hair, or is it?!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:48:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28454865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manka/pseuds/Cartadwarfwithaheartofgold
Summary: Romance may not be Varric's choice of genre, but it is Bethany's, and she can't help but pine for the clever, kind man her sister calls best friend.And if Varric was going to give romance a second chance for anyone, he'd do it for Bethany Hawke.
Relationships: Bethany Hawke/Varric Tethras
Series: Manka Writes Friend Fiction [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2022509
Comments: 6
Kudos: 12
Collections: The Hanged Man Holiday Exchange 2020





	Pining for a Second Chance at Romance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyNorbert](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyNorbert/gifts).



> Happy Holidays! I hope you enjoy this short little fic of your OTP and I did them justice! <3

Bethany knew it was getting late. She could tell by the slow, steady quieting of the Hanged Man around them. The constant clank of mugs, the buzz of conversation, even the sound of Norah shouting all began to fade away as the night dragged on. 

One by one, their friends peeled off from the table. Fenris, her sister, Anders, and Aveline were going to the Wounded Coast and wouldn’t be back for another day at least, but the rest of them had gathered at the Hanged Man in Marian’s absence. 

Bethany was just grateful to get out of the hovel Gamlen called home. The constant bickering between him and Mother, the smell of the slums, the oppressive weight of _her_ secret keeping them down…

It was too much. Here, at least, she could forget. For a little while. 

“Well, Sunshine,” Varric drawled, beginning to gather up the cards on the table and jerking his chin to the bar. “I think we lost Rivaini.” 

She followed his gaze, biting her own lip to stop her amused smile. Isabela leaned against the bar, far too close to a large, muscular gentleman. While she watched, her friend leaned casually into the man’s space, brushing her fingers lightly over the exposed muscles of his chest as if it was the easiest thing in the world to do. 

“I think you’re right,” Bethany began, turning back to Varric. 

Only for her own eyes to land squarely on the unbuttoned tunic and the thick hair displayed prominently. She ripped her gaze away and back to his face, finding Varric’s lips quirking up at the corners. 

She felt her face warm despite herself and dropped her gaze back to her mug of watered down ale. 

But she couldn’t help peeking back up from beneath the sweep of her lashes, considering the bright red silk, gold embroidery, and Varric’s own muscles with a pang of longing. 

There was an image in her mind, one she couldn’t quite banish, that always haunted her when she’d had a bit too much cheap ale. Her own hand over that silk, feeling it warm beneath her touch, while she stared into whiskey colored eyes and listened raptly to Varric telling a story for her and her _alone_.

It was a fantasy. A childish one. He was her older sister’s best friend, and more to the point he was worldly, cultured, clever and she…

She was a penniless apostate with no future but hiding in the shadows waiting for the templars to take her. She was a farm girl who knew hardly anything of the world. A refugee living in a _shack_ with her slimy uncle who sold them to servitude to get them into the city. 

But as she heard Isabela’s husky laughter drift from the bar before being abruptly smothered by what she imagined to be a swoon-worthy kiss, she couldn’t help but wish for the same thing. 

“I suppose I ought to get back to Gamlen’s,” she sighed. “Maybe he and Mother have declared a truce for the night.” 

She looked up from her mug to find Varric watching her with gentle warmth, the kind of easy understanding that always lurked beneath his carefree smile and biting humor. The way he looked at her made her think…

Well. He looked at her like he understood her, like he _wanted_ to understand her, and that was more precious than anything.

“You know, Hawke wouldn’t appreciate me letting you walk back to Gamlen’s by yourself.” 

She bristled, straightening her shoulders. “I’m not a child.” 

“Nobody could think that, Sunshine,” he soothed. “But think of the danger to my chest hair if something happens to you. Your sister would shave it clean off, and then what will I do?” 

“Invest in proper shirts?” she suggested. 

He broke out in a beaming grin, eyes sparkling. “Rivaini would never forgive her.” 

Bethany giggled, which only made him grin even more brilliantly. 

“Come on up to my room, Sunshine. You can have the bed, I’ve got lots of work to catch up on. Hell, you may get a proper night’s sleep without Gamlen’s snoring.” 

A proper night’s sleep. In _Varric’s_ bed. She swallowed the bright burst of anticipation. “How do you know Gamlen snores?”

“Of course he snores,” Varric insisted, standing from the table. “Have you seen him?” 

Before she could contemplate his offer, he stood beside her, offering his arm to help her stand. “My lady, allow me to escort you to the _finest_ rooms this dismal establishment has to offer.” 

In another world, a better one, she’d be wearing a silk gown. He’d find her at a ball, offer her his arm just like that, and then…

She shook the thought from her head, taking his hand. He tucked her arm securely in his elbow and winked up into her face. “Knew you’d see sense, Sunshine.” 

Bethany wasn’t so sure she had. 

He escorted her, every inch a gentleman, up the stairs. Isabela had vanished, gone the way of the rest of their friends and most of the Hanged Man’s patrons. He even helped her step over a sleeping drunk on the steps like a prince helping her over a puddle. 

It was enough to make her laugh. Or maybe cry. She wasn’t sure. 

His door shut behind them with a firm click, then the clank of his lock. This wasn’t the first time she found herself in his rooms, but it was almost certainly the first time she’d been alone with him there. 

He bustled past her to bank up the fire. “My only stipulation is you take your boots off before getting into bed. I’ve had to carry your sister up here three damn times and she always fights me on that. You ever try to get her boots off when she doesn’t want them off?” 

Sometimes, Bethany’s whole family had slept with their boots on. Back when they were afraid at any moment they’d have to take their mage-child and run from the Templars at the door. 

“Mother says it’s easier to wait until she’s passed out,” Bethany advised. “Although it’s not worth the fight, in my opinion.” 

“Your mother didn’t pay for quality thread count like I have, Sunshine.” Varric looked up from the fire, smiling just as warmly as the flames in the grate. “Boots off.” 

If Mother could afford it, she would have, even in Lothering. Bethany wondered if the great, elegant Leandra Amell ever looked at their cozy, humble hovels and longed for the grand, elegant mansions of her youth. 

Bethany wondered if a runaway romance was really worth the ashes of their life in Ferelden and life in the shadows of the Gallows, one child buried, one hidden, and the third…

Well. Marian would be alright. Probably. And at least her sister had Varric. 

Bethany plopped on the low bed and reached down to tug off her worn, cracked leather boots. Varric sighed, the sound of a man utterly comfortable in his surroundings. She could _easily_ picture him making the same soft, contented noise every morning when he woke. 

But just because she _could_ picture it didn’t mean she _should_.

“My publisher is gonna have my ass, Sunshine.” Varric swept from the built up fire to his desk, examining the neatly stacked papers there with exaggerated irritation. “Bartrand and Hawke have me running my chest hair off to fund this expedition, I’ve missed two deadlines.” 

“It can’t be that bad,” Bethany soothed. Varric shot her a roguish, daring grin that sent her heart fluttering. 

“You’ve never met my publisher. She started in the Coterie, only thing more wicked than her red pen are her daggers.” 

She giggled. “Your publisher is a _criminal_?” 

“All publishers are criminals,” Varric groused. “It’s practically part of the job description.” 

She took a moment to admire the play of the fire over his chiseled features. His broken nose. The tip of his lips into something… almost uncertain in his smile. 

And tired. _Maker_ , for a moment, he looked exhausted. 

“I shouldn’t steal your bed from you,” Bethany murmured, at exactly the same time her fingers sank greedily into the fine, heavy quilt. 

“I’m a gentleman. The lady _always_ gets to sleep on the bed.” 

“I’m not a lady,” Bethany protested. 

Varric’s eyes widened in feigned surprise. “You mean to tell me you’re not the great, beautiful Lady Hawke I’ve heard so much about?” 

She scoffed. Varric merely grinned even brighter. “Lay down, I’ll see if I can’t get some of this writing done while I’m not at Hawke’s beck and call.” 

“Is it a romance?” 

Bethany didn’t know why she asked. She felt foolish as soon as the question left her lips. For the space of one heartbeat, Varric froze over his papers. The flames served only to deepen the shadows in his face. 

“Never had much luck with romances,” Varric admitted quietly, picking up his papers. “I’m a man of mystery underneath all the chest hair.” 

He was. And yet, something told her he _wasn’t._

“You could always try your hand at it again,” Bethany kept her gaze planted firmly on her fingers while she busied herself with pulling the covers down.

Instead of the scoff of disdain she expected, she heard a soft, almost broken laugh. “If anybody could convince me, I’d take it up again for you, Sunshine.” 

Her stomach flipped, but she dared not look up from the comforter to pin him with the beseeching glance she wanted to send his way. Instead she buried beneath the blankets that smelled of him, a faint hint of oak and vanilla. 

“So what’s the grand mystery? In your new book?” she asked. 

She finally screwed up her courage to look at him, finding him settled in his armchair, warm eyes gentle on her. 

“You know how it goes. There’s a man, a beautiful woman, and lots of trouble,” he admitted with a sly grin. 

Bethany returned it with a small, tentative smile of her own. “Tell me all about it.” 


End file.
